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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24777937">The Unlucky Bird</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reynier/pseuds/Reynier'>Reynier</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Transcendence Comics Black Label [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gravity Falls, Transcendence AU - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Academia, Alternate Universe - Transcendence (Gravity Falls), Gen, POV Outsider</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:46:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,599</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24777937</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reynier/pseuds/Reynier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jo Schulz recognizes the new lecturer at the University of Garching.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Transcendence Comics Black Label [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579258</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>100</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Unlucky Bird</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/aba_daba_do/gifts">aba_daba_do</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>ABA congrats on finishing your interviews you wonderful person ily &lt;3 &lt;3 &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>    “I think every single student who attends this university should have to complete a required Introduction to Occult Principles class,” said Professor Jo Schulz, then took a deep breath and steepled their fingers. </p><p>    The Dean frowned. “I understand you have good motivations,” he said carefully, “but you have to understand that every department has some class they think should be mandatory as a gen-ed. It’s a common tactic to boost enrollment.”</p><p>    In the weak noon light, the Dean’s face looked spotted and tired. Jo was too frustrated for sympathy. “Boost enrollment? I don’t give a jot about boosting enrollment!”</p><p>    “Well, perhaps that’s something that, as chair of the Demonology department, you should spend more time contemplating.”
    This was so profoundly petty that Jo couldn’t formulate a proper response. Instead, they opted to return to their core point. “Dean Ganid, we live in a country that, forty years ago, tried to ban anyone from saying the names of demons. Last spring the University of Leibniz fired an assistant professor for teaching his students Interim Cancelling Spells. Just because the world would be safer without the occult doesn’t mean it’s going to go away, and our students are completely uneducated on basic safety measures. This is a matter of public concern.”</p><p>    “Professor Schulz, we live in a country in which, thirty years ago,” the Dean parroted, “a professor of your ilk was eaten alive by a demon he’d been consorting with for an unclear amount of time. Surely you haven’t forgotten what happens when the public learns too much about magic?”</p><p>    It took a second for Jo to respond, fixated as they were on the particular emphasis the man had placed on the word <em>consorting</em>, which raised all sorts of horrifying footnotes. “That’s not fair,” they managed. “There will always be people who do dumb things because they think books are more real than the real world. What I’m saying is-- well, the kids who summon Rhyshannah the Arduous because they think it will just be a fun Saturday night. Maybe they’ll do it anyway, but at least we can give them some basic tools to protect themselves.” The Dean was looking unconvinced, and Jo leaned forward, practically pleading at this point. “Come on, Dean. We just need your signature before we can submit a form to the curriculum committee. <em>Please.</em>”</p><p>    His mouth twisted. The seconds ticked by. Then:</p><p>    “No. Have a nice day, Professor Schulz.”</p><p> </p><p>    “New hire from the job search should be here today for his formal welcome tour,” said Eddie Galvano, popping saltines into his mouth. He was their local summoning mathematics lecturer, which meant he taught one class that was cross-listed with three different departments plus the graduate program, and then passed that off as four sections. So far no one had caught him. All the professors knew, of course, but they were too busy squabbling like rats over the increasingly meagre grants handed out by the government to worry about what the lecturers got up to. </p><p>    Jo, their eyes heavy and swollen from lack of sleep, forced their head up from the pile of papers it had been resting on. “Huh?”</p><p>    “New hire,” Eddie repeated, around a mouthful of cracker, “showing up today. Should be fun.”</p><p>    “Close your mouth when you’re chewing,” said Jo, and slammed their head down again on their makeshift pillow. Several seconds later the words trickled down from their ears to the rusty mechanism of their brain. “What? New hire? Who?”</p><p>    “The one we hired.”</p><p>    “Thank you. Thank you so much, Eddie. What in the ever loving bleeding heavens are you talking about?”</p><p>    There was a horrible plasticky inhaling noise as though someone was sucking all the cracker crumbs out of a saltine bag. “The PhD student from Oregon or wherever the fuck he’s from. You know. The one with a specialty in early summoning systems. He sang karaoke at the candidate dinner?”</p><p>    Jo squinted at him. He was sitting with his legs flung over one armrest of his violently sequined spinny chair, cracker box in one hand and MagiOrb in the other, but for all his irritating smug air he looked genuine. This was odd. It was odd because the Demonology department hadn’t run any job searches since 3138, when the university had deigned to bestow funding from on high in a gesture of respect for the date. “We haven’t run any job searches since 3138,” said Jo, then remembered that of course they had, they had run this one, and the new professor would be arriving today for his formal welcome tour. How had they forgotten? “Oh. The PhD Student from Oregon with a specialty in early summoning systems. He sang terrible karaoke at the candidate dinner.”</p><p>    “I thought it was pretty good,” sniffed Eddie, tossing his box sideways and only hitting the trashcan through divine miracle. He was awful. Unfortunately, he was also the only person who came into the Demonology lounge, because all of the undergrads thought the Chair was for decoration, not for talking to. And Jo got lonely. “He’s okay-looking, which is better than all you fuckers. Maybe he can be our mascot.”</p><p>    Jo was getting a headache. “Our <em>mascot</em>? We don’t-- I mean, we’re the Demonology department. Shouldn’t our mascot be Alcor, or something?”</p><p>    “Ooh, sexy! Try spinning that one to the Dean.” Then, as if to punctuate his point, he pushed himself off from the desk and slid halfway across the floor of the lounge before falling unceremoniously backwards onto the padded carpeting. Some desultory grumbling indicated to Jo that there was no real cause for concern. </p><p>    “The Dean doesn’t want to talk to me anymore.” Their voice sounded moody even to themself. “I’ve driven him crazy and he still won’t listen to me. Do you agree with me, at least? Please tell me someone agrees with me.”</p><p>    “Yeah, I mean, we all agree with you. But what are you gonna do? Th Dean said no. Just accept it and move on. Come on, let’s plan something fun for the tour this afternoon. Do you think we could push him in the fishpond, or is that hazing?”</p><p>     “I think that’s hazing,” said Jo, and returned to sleeping on the papers from their grad seminar. </p><p> </p><p>    Despite all nefarious schemes on behalf of Eddie, the new assistant professor did not get pushed into the fishpond. He also did not get axe-murdered, or strapped to a canon, or invited to sing karaoke again-- Eddie had proposed all of these with the same ebullient tone of voice. Part of the reason for this was the crushing stare of Evelyn Montague, Jo’s much-maligned office assistant who was suspected of murder in three countries but was very good at filing, and part of the reason was that when Tyrone Pines showed up at just past noon Jo almost dropped their coffee mug in shock. </p><p>    “Hi,” said Alcor the Dreambender mildly from the main room of the Demonology lounge. </p><p>    The circle of professors between him and Jo chorused a valiant attempt at a welcome. Some vague smalltalk floated through the air, meaningless trivialities about travel times and weather, while Jo leaned back heavily against the bookshelf filled with biographies of famous Demonologists and watched the world swim before their eyes. The last time they had seen Alcor the Dreambender had been at a black stone monument in San Sacra. He hadn’t seemed quite real, then. Now, in his old-fashioned but unnoticeable tweed suit with his leather briefcase clutched in one painfully human hand, he looked like a <em>person. </em>What was a demon pretending to be a person doing in Jo’s department lounge? How <em>dare </em>he?</p><p>    They hadn’t run any job searches since 3138. How had they forgotten? Oh, that <em>bastard. </em>Jo was not predisposed to pleasant patience; if something was wrong they felt no qualms in calling it out. But this called for a different approach. This was Alcor the Dreambender’s game, and Jo would have to learn his language in order to play it. There was no winning with him, that was what every study said. There was just escaping. So Jo smiled, wrapped their fingers a little tighter around their Raz McKereghan mug, and gave him a nod. “Welcome to the Demonology Department of the University of Garching,” they said. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”</p><p> </p><p>    It took a week for Alcor to snap and approach them. Through that time, Jo dressed themself up with bland smiles and handshakes, answered his awkward questions politely, and refused to look him in the eyes.</p><p>    Oddly enough, his credentials were the first thing he brought up, as though his education was the major point of concern in the current situation. “I do have a PhD,” he said, standing in the doorway of their office with a manner that suggested he knew he wasn’t wanted. “Hong Kong University. I got it three months ago.”</p><p>    This was a lot to unpack. “You got a PhD?” Jo blinked frantically. “You’ve been alive for thousands of years and you only now got a PhD?”</p><p>    “Well, I-- I had another PhD, technically. But it was in, uh, agriculture.” He gave a half-guilty laugh. “I mean, I can tell you a lot about crop rotation. But I didn’t think that was very applicable in the situation.”</p><p>    “What situations <em>was </em>it applicable in?”</p><p>    He rubbed the bridge of his nose and mumbled something too quiet for them to make out. Then, seemingly realising this, he repeated himself. “Wanted to grow spinach for my sheep.”</p><p>    Jo blinked. A thousand years’ demonology had taught them Alcor was dangerous. The last decade had convinced them he was also deeply weird. They decided not to question the sheep spinach. “So you got a PhD in-- in what, exactly?”</p><p>    “Pre-Transcendental demonological history!” He seemed proud of this, holding his briefcase slightly in front of him as though it was a platter upon which he was offering Jo his dissertation. “It was something I really didn’t know much about. Comparatively. I mean, I know everything.”</p><p>    “I know,” said Jo blandly, still standing at the terrible rickety coffee machine in the lounge, hoping that Evelyn didn’t walk in. “Anyway, not to be entirely rude, but what are you doing here?”</p><p>    In lieu of answering, Alcor shut the door carefully behind him, placed his dumb briefcase on the lounge table, and gave them a sad stab at a smile. “I wanted to help. I-- well, I keep an eye on everyone, right?”</p><p>    “Right,” said Jo, who felt there were more important issues at hand than trying to explain privacy to an immortal demon. </p><p>    “But I keep an extra eye on you. I don’t know many people in the world now. Old souls hurt too much. Some souls that I wish I had, just to talk to someone, are-- gone. For good. Irretrievable. But you’re someone. Not anyone special, not really, but someone with the grace to stand up to me and an interesting academic career.” Seemingly unawares that he was being quite rude, he slid down until he was sitting on one arm of the chair next to him. “And bureaucracy has been giving you hell, hasn’t it, <strong>J̷o ̷̨͕̂̒S̶c̷̤̏h̶̛̎͜ͅu̶̎̋l̴̊̎͋z̷͓͋̚?</strong>”</p><p>    The air shifted. There was no sunlight to glint off Alcor’s eyes, but they glinted nonetheless, irises scratching the air around them like nails into soft gold. Jo clutched their coffee mug tighter and leaned on the machine for balance. They had spent a career studying things like Alcor, but in the end there was nothing <em>like </em>Alcor-- there was just Alcor. But they weren’t a young hotshot academic with hell to raise, and this wasn’t the University of Wittenberg. This was Garching, their name was Jo Schulz, not Jan Faust, and they would not repeat the worst mistakes of their dead peers. Focusing on the feel of the plastic coffee machine under their hand, they took a deep, stabilizing breath. “I’m not looking to make a deal,” they said, their tone as polite and steady as they could manage, “and I don’t want your help. You are welcome to stay and teach if you like, but I respectfully ask you to act like any other professor. I don’t need you haunting my career like an albatross.”</p><p>    The room darkened further, as though someone were drawing the blinds over the sky. Alcor leaned forward from his perch on the armrest, his chin tilted down, a sliver of a smile creeping across his face. “What happened to the Jo Schulz who talked back to me on some nonsense online forum for demonology hacks? Has tenure rotted you? You’re trying to do something good for this university and they block you at every turn. Not out of malice, you understand-- no, just out of <em>inertia </em>and a petty desire to maintain control. Delegation scares them. But you would be a terrific delegate! I could make you--” He stopped suddenly, mid-sentence, his claw-like hands skittering through the air like a delayed picture, the frames of a film not quite aligning. Then he sagged back. His old-fashioned suit faded back into inoffensive tweed, his smile dropped, and his eyes looked sad and tired. “I’m sorry. I’m trying. I really am. I’m trying so hard.”</p><p>    Jo swallowed. Now that the terror had seeped out of the room, Alcor looked pathetic. “Did you come here with the intent of offering me a deal? Over <em>university bureaucratic drama</em>?” The humour of the situation caught up with them, and they let out a gentle chuckle. “Do you realise how silly it sounds to make some kind of a-- a Jan Faust-ian deal because the admin is blocking my curriculum proposals? Of all the things!”</p><p>    “Yeah,” said Alcor, a rueful smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, “yeah. I see it. It does sound pretty silly. I didn’t mean to. It just happens. Do you want a cup of coffee? I can get you a cup of coffee.”</p><p>    Before Jo could insist that there was no need, he sprang up, jittered over to the coffee machine, and began fiddling with the dials. Things clanked. Water boiled, far more quickly than it should have under simple thermodynamic processes. Then he held out a hand for Jo’s cup and, when they obliged, filled it with a brew that was somehow already tempered with Jo’s exact preference of milk. “Show-off,” they muttered. Humour was needed. Humour, it seemed, humanized. As impossible a notion as that might seem. “So what did you really come here for?”</p><p>    He gave them a wide-eyed look, hands still on the magicked coffee machine. “I really wanted to help. I’ve got nothing else to do. You’re passably interesting, and have some very good ideas regarding public education. And-- hey, I’ve got to put that new PhD to use somewhere, don’t I?”</p><p>    “Right,” said Jo, taking a sip out of their now-filled mug. “Well, you better teach well. No shenanigans. Are you in a shenanigan mood, Alcor? Or should I call you Tyrone?”</p><p>    “Tyrone is fine. I’ll toe the line, I promise. Nothing is very funny right now. Pranks offer too much of a temptation to warp. I’ll be good. And you?”</p><p>    “What?”</p><p>    Alcor’s gaze was earnest. “You’ll keep trying? With your curriculum changes and hiring ideas and support programs? You won’t give up?”</p><p>    Giving up had never been an option. It was a trivial flag, perhaps, in the grand scheme of the universe, but it was the flag Jo had chosen to plant. These were the differences they could make. “I won’t give up,” they said. “Anyway, Lecturer Pines. I’ll see you at karaoke.”</p>
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